


Witches & Black Cats

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffieween 2020 [4]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Creepy Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Halloween, Post-Book 3: Mockingjay, Post-Canon, Silly, that sounds wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: “Did you hear?” she asked.“Just the wind.” he mumbled against her throat, nibbling on the side of her neck.Itwasn’tthe wind.
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket
Series: Hayffieween 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983499
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Witches & Black Cats

**Author's Note:**

> Some post MJ scary but domestic story for you today! I hope you like it!

Haymitch didn’t do romance but, once in a while, Effie managed to rope him something that they _definitely_ didn’t call date night even if that was exactly what it was.

That she had convinced they needed a cozy night in right for Halloween was a plus in her opinion. Twelve didn’t really _do_ anything special for Halloween. No outlandish parties, no costumes, no candies… They had candles at the windows and bonfires in the meadow and it was all very meaningful and sad in a beautiful way and absolutely not what she wanted that year. She had carved pumpkins with Peeta, she had bought far too many candies and she had dressed as a sexy witch… What she wanted that night was to celebrate Halloween like she used to do back in the day. In short, she wanted to play at being frightened.

Haymitch had refused outright to wear a costume, which hadn’t surprised her and she hadn’t insisted, preferring to pick her battles. It had taken her long enough to convince him to watch horror movies – well, _soft_ horror movies, neither of them needed to be triggered.

For the most part, once she had broken out the candies and the wine, he had seemed to enjoy himself. He had certainly enjoyed it when she had buried her face in his neck and clung to him in fright in the middle of the movie.

The movie was now long over and they had moved on to better things: the making-out part of the date night.

Effie was enthusiastically giving it her all, kissing back in the most dirtiest way… At least until a weird noise broke her focus. She drew back, blinking a little, tilting her head back to better hear… Haymitch lost no time attacking her throat with his lips… She almost dismissed the noise as something straight out of her imagination but then it happened again.

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

“Just the wind.” he mumbled against her throat, nibbling on the side of her neck.

It _wasn’t_ the wind.

She could hear the wind just fine as it blew outside, making the branch of the old tree in the front yard bang repeatedly against the guest room window. She knew the sound of the wind when it crept down the chimney.

She had been living in Twelve for three years, she wasn’t as clueless as she used to be.

“No, it’s not.” she huffed, shoving him back a little.

He drew back with a sigh and paused, listening, clearly _humoring_ her… After a minute, he shrugged. “And _that’s_ why you shouldn’t be watching scary movies, princess…”

She pouted.

It took him three pecks to kiss that pout away. Then she kissed back, forgetting to worry about…

“ _There_!” she exclaimed, pushing him away again. “Did you hear this time?”

He shot her a long suffering look. “It’s _the wind_.”

“It’s _not_ the wind. There’s someone upstairs.” she insisted, looking at the ceiling. She was starting to feel a little scared, truth be told, because people breaking into their house would mean nothing good. They were who they were. Plenty of people hated them.

“Effie…” Haymitch drawled out, clearly about to tell her again that she was imagining things when he suddenly froze and sharply looked up. “Alright… _That_ wasn’t the wind.”

“ _I told you_.” she snapped, shooting off the couch, hugging herself tight. The sexy witch costume had seemed like a good idea when it had just been Haymitch but she wasn’t happy about the idea of confronting a burglar or a potential murderer wearing only a short and tight silk lacy black dress.

“Stay here.” Haymitch ordered, no trace of humor left on his face.

There was more creaking upstairs.

Haymitch left the room and Effie only lasted a whole second before following him. He shot her an annoyed glare – more out of worry, she thought, than out of real anger: he wanted her out of harm’s way.

“We should _not_ separate.” she protested in a hushed whisper.

He rolled his eyes but nodded once, heading straight for the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised when he snatched one of the big kitchen knives he used to carve chicken and roasted poultries. His old hunting knife was upstairs, locked in the drawer of his bedside table. The leather handle was falling apart and he didn’t feel the need to carry it around anymore. Four years of peace had that effect on people.

After a brief moment of hesitation, she grabbed a knife for herself.

Haymitch eyed her with a mix of mistrust and uncertainty. Probably because he knew there was no way she would know how to fight, never mind in a _knife fight_.

“You stay behind me.” he demanded. “If it turns ugly, you run to the kids’ and you call the Peacekeepers station. You _don’t_ get in the middle. No matter what happens to me.”

Well that was lot of idiotic instructions.

She was not about to abandon him to a potential killer.

She had long learned that it was more expedient to agree to what his protective nature demanded though and ask forgiveness later so she nodded.

Then they crept their way up the stairs and paused, listening for the telltale noise again.

The creaking never came.

There was a weird plaintive noise instead. Like a whimper.

Effie shuddered.

_Ghosts didn’t exist_ , she reminded herself firmly.

“That came from the guest room.” Haymitch murmured for her benefit. “Careful now, sweetheart.”

She followed him.

The guest room’s door was closed, as it often was.

“Is it cold or is it me?” she whispered, shivering and not entirely from nerves.

Haymitch didn’t answer but he was frowning. He placed his hand on the door’s handle and shot her another look. “Stay back.”

Then he turned the handle and slammed the door open, making himself big and scary as he lifted the knife, posed to strike…

She obviously did _not_ stay back and sneaked in the room right behind him, ready to confront their invader…

The room was empty.

Haymitch deflated when he spotted the window that had somehow remained cracked open, likely when she had cleaned upstairs the day before. He closed it properly with a slightly mocking look. “Told you it was the wind.”

“The creaking was _not_ the wind.” she argued, checking the old wardrobe. Nobody was hiding in the middle of their spare blankets and clean sheets though. “Check under the bed.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why? In case there’s a _monster_?”

“In case somebody’s hiding there!” she snapped, pursing her lips. That would have been the perfect cue for a killer to jump out and attack them both but nothing happened so she folded her arms in front of her chest and lifted her eyebrows in a challenging way. “Please. For my peace of mind. That creaking was _not_ the wind, Haymitch.”

“What do you want it to be?” he grumbled “There’s no one up here.”

And yet, she noticed, he wedged the knife inside his belt instead of putting it down.

And he eventually lowered himself to his knees to peer under the bed. She expected another gibe but it never came.

He snorted. “Okay. You win. There’s an intruder, all right.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Take a look.” he invited, before making the same clicking noises he did with the geese.

There better _not_ be a lost goose under the bed because she would be _really_ mad. She was always telling him to be more careful with the pen. She ended up chasing one of them out of her kitchen at least once a week.

She kneeled down and peeked under the bed, expecting a flash of dirty white feathers. What she got were two yellow eyes.

It took her a while to spot the small bony shape attached to said eyes because it blended perfectly with the shadows…

“ _Ow_ …” she cooed. “The poor baby… How did you get here, my pretty?”

The kitten looked positively tiny. And terrified.

“He must have climbed the tree and slipped through the open window.” Haymitch deduced, sitting back up. “Question is: how are we gonna get him back outside?”

“Do not be _ridiculous_ we _cannot_ put him back outside. Look at him! He looks _famished_.” She clucked her tone in reprobation at his heartlessness. “Why don’t you go get some milk for him?”

“Effie…” he warned.

“You will have to come out, my pretty…” she coaxed, stretching her arm under the bed as far as it would go. The kitten scrambled back further, trying to melt with the wall. “Do not be scared, darling… I would never hurt such a pretty thing as you… Come on, pretty…”

“Effie.” he insisted.

“Milk, Haymitch.” she sing-sang, not to alarm the animal.

“We’re not keeping the kitten.” he grumbled.

“I am _not_ sending a kitten back outside with this weather.” she argued.

“The weather’s perfectly nice for the season.” he retorted.

The kitten curiously – and a little cautiously – started sniffing her fingers. She let him investigate until she had a good angle and then quickly snatched him and pulled him out from under the bed. He struggled to get free but between some more soothing cooing noises and well placed scratches, she managed to get him to calm down. Slowly, the tiny thing’s racing heart slowed down under her palm. She petted him until he started purring.

And what a strong loud purr it was…

She looked up at Haymitch, beaming. “Look, he likes me.”

It was fate. All witches needed a black cat, didn’t they?

Haymitch stared at her, stared at the kitten, and then sighed. “He is _not_ sleeping with us.”

She pouted. “He can sleep at the foot of the bed. You won’t even notice he’s here. He’s so light…” She planted a kiss on the tiny little head. “I am calling him Halloween. Don’t you think it fits him?”

He rolled his eyes and disappeared downstairs, presumably to go get some of the requested milk, muttering under his breath about black cats and Halloween and how she always got her way in the end…

“Do not worry, my pretty…” she told the cat. “He is grumpy but we love him anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know!


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